


The Darkest Moments of your Mind

by OnceThereWasAGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Sam Winchester, Emotionally Repressed, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22751335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceThereWasAGirl/pseuds/OnceThereWasAGirl
Summary: To save Dean’s life, Sam does what Winchesters always do: something reckless. It leads to Dean having to enter Sam’s mind and experience all his worst memories. Can Sam live with having all that darkness from his past dragged to the surface at once? Can Dean accept knowing everything about Sam?
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 264





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first non-reader insert fan fiction. I've been a fan of Supernatural for a long time, and finally I've finished something I'm really proud of. Please heed warnings about rape/noncon! It is not between the brothers– Sam is abused by other parties. The Underage tag is for a flashback to when Sam was sixteen.
> 
> Many thanks to [Casey679](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casey679/pseuds/Casey679) for beta-reading and some serious editing. I've learned so much as a writer from working with her!

The last thing Dean remembered before everything went dark was Sam stroking his hair and mumbling, “It’s gonna be alright, I’m gonna fix you” over and over while clutching Dean’s broken body close. 

If he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have complained about his brother getting snot and tears all over him, but since he was bleeding out from a dozen different wounds all at once, it didn’t seem all that important.

Dean had tried to speak. He’d wanted to tell Sam it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault, and that he wanted him to keep going, no matter what. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a hacking cough and bubbles of blood. 

“Just hang on, Dean. I’ll do it. I’ll save you.”


	2. Finding out what happened

When Dean woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he felt weirdly light. It was almost like he was floating. When he opened his eyes, he realized he was lying in his bed in the bunker, the lamp on his bedside table glowing softly. As he started taking in the world around him, the second thing he noticed was that it was awfully quiet. He ran his hands down his body, but he already knew what he would find. Through the rips and holes in his shirt, he found unmarred skin. The fabric was stiff with dried blood – more than a person could lose without dying – but his body showed no signs of damage.

Something wasn’t right. If he was here and in good health again, then where was Sam? Sam was always making noise. Sure, the guy was a trained hunter and could sneak up on most creatures, but when he wasn’t trying to be stealthy, he was a big, awkward guy. That meant he was always making some noise – shuffling his feet, banging into furniture, knocking books over, things like that. Dean had always made fun of Sam for it, telling him that he had to learn how to be quieter. Now, he really hoped that by some miracle his brother had finally listened to him.

He braced himself as he got out of bed, but nothing hurt anymore. His body felt almost new, and supple in a way it hadn’t been for ages. Over the years, it had developed problems – a knee that stiffened up if he sat too long, shoulders that ached from worrying all the time. Now, all those pains were gone.

He moved through the bunker quickly, looking for Sam, knowing in his gut that he wouldn’t find him but needing to be sure. He could always tell if Sam was near; it was just this kind of calming and warm feeling. Even when he was irritated with his brother and didn't want to see his stupid face, he felt safe knowing that Sam was there. 

The bunker felt empty now, even kind of stale, as if there hadn’t been anyone living there for a week or so. Dean didn’t want to think about what that meant. He didn’t want to believe Sam would be stupid enough to make a deal or something equally bad. They both knew how that kind of thing turned out for Sam. Deals led to addiction, led to trusting demons, led to Lucifer being freed. Surely Sam wouldn’t be so reckless?

You never knew. The kid had made some truly awful decisions in his time. Dean shook his head.

He was trying to decide where he should start when his cellphone rang back in his bedroom. The caller ID was unknown, but he answered it out of curiosity. Not many people had that number.

“Yeah?”

“Hello? Is this Dean Winchester?” a cold male voice asked in a clipped tone.

He didn’t recognize the voice. “Why?”

“I’m calling on behalf of Sam Winchester. I need to speak with his brother.”

“You know where Sam is?” Dean asked, hope in his voice.

“That depends on if you’re Dean or not.” The caller was starting to get fed up with Dean not answering his question.

“Yeah, I’m Dean. Where’s Sam? Is he okay?” 

“My name is Dr. Grey. I’m the head of the psychiatric ward at Grace Hospital in Denver, Colorado. I’m sorry to inform you that your brother has been admitted to our hospital. We received your number and instructions to call you when he was admitted, and we’ve been trying to reach you since then.”

“Instructions from who? What’s wrong with him?” Now Dean was really worried. Sam was alive, though, and if he was hurt, he hadn’t sold his soul. Whatever it was, Dean could fix it. Dean  _ had  _ to fix it. It was his  _ job _ .

“Apparently, your brother himself left the instructions in a note. I wouldn’t have believed it possible, given his current state.” The doctor made it sound like Sam was just an interesting case to poke and prod. Dean didn’t like it.

“What state?” Dean asked. ”What happened?.

“We don’t know. He was unconscious and badly hurt when he was found, but his injuries aren’t consistent with anything we’ve seen before. He had numerous lacerations, both deep and shallow, as if from blades. There were also what look like bite marks, but we couldn’t identify what animal made them. He had second-degree burns on the soles of his feet, as well as several other places. We had to reset a break in his leg and several ribs are cracked. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was tortured, but the angle of the wounds isn’t consistent with being inflicted by another person.” Dean’s jaw tensed, and all the muscles that just a while ago seemed new and relaxed began knotting up again.

The doctor’s voice softened. “We’ve treated his injuries, and expect a full physical recovery. He woke up a day ago, but there were complications. Currently, your brother is catatonic. He responds to simple commands, and can follow directions, but his conscious mind just isn’t there, and we have not been able to communicate with him.”

“But, you’ve gotta have experience with that kind of shit, right?” Dean started moving around his room, frantically throwing things into a duffle bag. He had to get to Sam  _ now _ . He had to fix this. Whatever had happened, it was because of him. He was sure of that. 

“Yes, we do, but so far he isn’t responding to treatment. How soon can you be here? Perhaps he will respond better to a familiar face.” The doctor’s dry voice had returned, but Dean could still sense a hint of compassion.

“I’m on my way,” Dean said, changing out of his bloodied and tattered clothes. He juggled the phone from shoulder to shoulder as he pulled on his jacket.

“Excellent. There are some decisions that you will need to make about your brother’s care if he does not respond in the next few days.” 

Dean tensed. “Is that something you’re counting on, him not getting better?” he asked coldly.

“So far, your brother has shown no signs of improving and seems to be totally locked inside his head. I don’t know what to tell you. It’s a unique case, and without knowing what happened to him to induce his state, you might need to prepare for the worst.”

“Like hell I do,” Dean snapped. “I’ll be there in the morning, and if you don’t know how to fix my brother, I’ll do it myself!”

“Sir, I would strongly counsel you against removing him from professional care–” 

“I’ll be there, just keep him safe.” Dean hung up the phone.

Not even 15 minutes after he’d woken up to an empty bunker, he was out the door and into Baby’s familiar seat. His heart beat painfully as he realized Sam had left Baby there for him. But he knew where Sam was, and he was alive – they both were – and that had to be good enough for now.

***

“I’m sorry to report that we had to restrain him, Mr. Winchester,” the doctor informed him as they strode down the hospital’s stark white hallway.

The doctor looked just as stiff and dry as he had sounded on the phone. He had dark, wispy hair that barely covered the top of his head, carefully arranged to not let the pink scalp shine through. He was short enough that Dean could easily look down at it as they walked.

Dean made himself take a deep breath and slow down. “You had to  _ what _ ?” It irked him to shorten his steps and not run ahead of the doctor, but he didn’t know where Sam was. 

“We had to restrain your brother.” The doctor looked up at Dean, his pale blue eyes cold in his sharp face. “He started to hurt himself.”

“Sammy…” Dean whispered. His chest hurt, and he lengthened his steps even though it meant leaving the doctor behind. He would find Sam on his own, he  _ always  _ did. His brother needed him.

The doctor actually lengthened his stride to a quick, formal gait to keep pace with Dean. “We still haven’t been able to communicate with him, but last night his catatonia changed to an agitated state. He started screaming and clawing at his own eyes.”

“Is he injured?”

“Not more than before,” said the doctor. “We stopped him before he could do any actual harm. Since then, he has calmed down some. He isn’t fighting the restraints as hard as he did at the beginning, and he has been calling for you.”

“Then let’s get me to him,” Dean said, flashing his teeth at the doctor.

“He’s just up ahead. This door.” The doctor gestured to the next one on the right.

Dean stepped in front of the doctor and pulled it open, half-expecting it to be locked. When he stepped into the room, though, he understood why there was no need for that.

Sam was lying on a hospital bed, his wrists and ankles strapped to the sides with robust leather bounds. He looked pale and gaunt, his eyes hollow with dark smudges beneath them. Sam had been taller than him for a long time, but lying on that bed, stitches covering a nasty gash from his forehead across his cheek to his chin, he looked small and vulnerable.  _ Had Sam been that thin before? _

“Sam!” Dean stumbled to the bed. There was a chair next to it and he sank into it thankfully. When he took Sam’s hand, he noticed that it wasn’t just bound to the bed frame: it was also pinned with an IV. He squeezed Sam’s hand, letting his gaze wander down his body. An alarming number of bandages covered his brother, and one of his legs was in a cast. His forearms were covered in cuts, welts, and burns.

“As you can see, your brother was badly hurt when he was brought here, but he will be just fine… physically, at least.” The doctor’s voice cut through Dean’s horrified triage of Sam’s injuries. “It’s worse with his mind. I hoped that the treatment we’re giving him would lead to improvement, but there has been no overall change.”

“You said he was talking, asking for me?” Dean said, turning away from Sam’s pale figure but keeping his cold hand firmly clasped in his.

“He was, and has been, now and again. It comes in waves. He has episodes where he screams, pleads, and tries to hurt himself, followed by phases of asking for you, almost begging, and then just this, nothing.”

When Dean looked over at his brother again, Sam’s eyes were open. He shot to his feet and bent over him, letting go of his hand so he could place his palms on either side of Sam’s cold face.

“I’m here Sammy,” he said. “It’s going to be all right now.” 

Sam’s eyes, a dull grey-blue color, so different from his usual warm hazel, just stared blankly ahead.

“Please Sam, just come back. Whatever it was you did, however stupid, I can fix it, just come back,” he pleaded.

Sam’s eyes seemed to change color at that, growing darker, almost black, and for a moment Dean thought that it had worked, that Sam was waking up. But when had the life of a Winchester been that easy?

“DEEEAAAN!” Sam howled, as if in agony. “PLEASE, NO!” After that, he let out an inarticulate scream of raw terror that seemed to shred his vocal cords and throat. Dean had never heard his brother scream like that. It froze the air in his lungs.

“Sam, listen to me, it’s not real, whatever it is. I’m here, you’re safe.” He grabbed Sam’s shoulder in a firm grip and tried to shake him as he pleaded, “Come on, just wake up!”

Then hands grabbed Dean and pulled him back, and a couple of nurses as well as a security guard escorted him out of the room.

Dean shook their hands off. “All right, I get it.”

“It seems your presence didn’t help,” the doctor said, closing the door behind them as the nurses in Sam’s room tried to calm him down. “But there’s still a lot of good you can do. We need Sam’s full medical history. Was he perhaps diagnosed with autism? That is sometimes linked to catatonia.”

“Autism? No. Maybe a little geeky, but -”

“The nurse at the desk will take down all that information before you leave.” The doctor put his hand on Dean’s arm. “You drove straight here, right? Why don’t you get a room in town and come back when you’ve slept. It really looks like you need some rest, and Sam’s recovery will not happen overnight.” The doctor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he sounded genuinely interested in Dean’s well-being. “We’ll take care of your brother in the meantime. When you return, we’ll formulate a plan for continuing his treatment.”

Dean looked at him coldly. “If you think I’m leaving my brother here–” he started.

“I’m afraid it isn’t up to you right now,” the doctor interrupted him. “Sam is my patient. Given his acts of self-harm, your brother is a danger to himself. That means you can’t check him out unless I allow it, and right now it isn’t in his best interest to leave. Please take my advice – tell us his history, get some sleep and let us do our job taking care of your brother.”

And just like that, Dean was dismissed. The doctor turned his back on Dean and walked away. If Dean wasn’t sure that Sam’s ailment wasn’t natural, nothing would have kept him from Sam. But this was a hunt, Dean was sure of it. If he wanted to help his brother, he needed to find out what had happened. 

He had work to do.

***

Dean visited three different motels before he struck gold and found the one where Sam was staying. He had no problems convincing the cute clerk to let him use the room even though Sam had never checked out. After all, it was paid for the entire week, and they were brothers. Dean’s smile worked on all the ladies, young and old.

The room was a mess. Sam had obviously gone research-crazy, not even bothering with cleaning up after himself. Dirty laundry was strewn across the floor, and the surfaces that weren’t covered in books and paper had half-empty takeout containers on them. For a moment Dean’s mind flashed to when he and Sam were looking for their father. Their dad’s motel room had looked a lot like this. At least this time, he knew where Sam was.

Sighing, Dean put down his bag on the bed. It would take some time to go through this mess, but he hoped he knew his brother well enough to make the work go a bit faster. For example, Sam always sorted his research according to relevance: the most important pieces were placed to the left, the least important to the right.

He sat down at the rickety table and started going through the stacks of papers on the left. A lot of them were print-outs from various online sources. There were also a fair amount of pages photocopied from books, and even pages torn from really old books. He’d never seen Sam desperate enough to mutilate books before.

The mess might have lacked Sam’s meticulous order, but after looking through it, Dean got the big picture. There was a legend of a cave about an hour outside of the city. The origin of the stories wasn’t clear, but records from the earliest settlers talked about a spirit that granted wishes. To get what you wished for, you had to go through some sort of trial to prove your worth.

Dean closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.  _ Trials? Again? _ It had worked out  _ so  _ well for Sam last time… He shoved the memory of Sam dying in that church away, burying it deep where it belonged.

A moth-eaten journal with sticky pages that made Dean cringe told the story of a family seeking refuge from a storm inside the cave. A lot of the words on the page had been smudged, but it was clear that someone got their wish granted and people died horribly. The entry finished with the survivors forcing the boulders on the hill above the mouth of the cave to fall down, blocking it from passers-by to keep them safe.

The trials could explain all of Sam’s injuries, but not his mental state, and that bothered Dean. He rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up from the exhaustion that had crept up as he sifted through all the research Sam had accumulated. 

His brother had been thorough in calculating the risks involved. He had arranged for Dean to be called, which meant he was aware that whatever had happened to him was a possibility. It was just like Sam to take a stupid chance just to save Dean. He scoffed. Whatever Sam had found and judged worth the risk, he couldn’t see it.

Dean needed to know what had happened to Sam’s mind. Was it the trials that broke him? His gut said that wasn’t the case. If Sam hadn’t passed the trials Dean wouldn’t be alive, so something else must have happened. The answer was obvious – he needed to go to the cave.

***

Getting there required a long hike up the side of a mountain through rough forested terrain. Dean only found his way because Sam had marked the place on a map and traced the best path from the nearest hiking trail. Dean had no idea how Sam had made it out of there; it was far from any road and there were no signs of civilization, but clearly he managed somehow.

When he arrived, there was no mistaking the place: a large gaping hole in the cliff-face with figures carved over its mouth. From their shape and wear, Dean guessed that they had been carved there a long, long time ago. The rocks below the cave’s mouth looked recently disturbed.

He approached the cave and whispered the words he’d found in Sam’s notes. The darkness shimmered, and then the symbols glowed and changed... or maybe it was his vision that changed. Whichever it was, Dean could now clearly read what the carvings said: 

_ “Enter if you seek your heart’s desire, but beware. The worthy ones who prove their need through the trials will succeed, but even they must pay the price.” _

Dean had read about the trials part in Sam’s research, but the price thing was new. “Greedy bastards. Isn’t the trial enough? Why does there have to be a price as well?” he muttered under his breath as he climbed into the cave. He expected darkness to greet him, but instead, a flickering light emanated from the stone walls.

“Because, young man, that’s how it works.” The deep voice echoed through the chamber. 

Dean looked around. He couldn’t see the voice’s owner, but he saw plenty that made his skin crawl and his heart clench. In each wall, several openings led away from the main chamber. One opening was filled with flame, its floor covered with glowing coals. In another, he saw moving shadows and sharp steel blades that glinted with the light from the walls’ glow. He saw large, spindly spider legs moving in the darkness of yet another opening, and shuddered and looked away, not wanting to see what was waiting in any of the other openings.

“If anyone who wanted their wish granted could have it for a price, they would gladly pay it. Just look at how many deals those filthy demons make.” The voice seemed to come from all around him. He swiveled his head trying to locate it, but started to feel nauseous when he saw pools of blood that looked fresh covering the floor in several places. It had to be Sammy’s.

“On the other hand, if there were only trials, those who were worthy to have their wish granted would win, yes, but what would I gain from it?” the voice continued. Dean figured it had to be the spirit that supposedly granted the wishes.

“So what’s the price then, huh?” he asked.

“Curious, I see,” the voice boomed. “Not everyone asks before they take the trials.”

Dean closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was certain Sam hadn’t asked. The kid had undoubtedly just thrown himself into it at the mere possibility of saving Dean.

There was a pause, but Dean waited it out. He wasn’t about to let the thing know he had no intention to take the trials and get a wish.

“The price is simple: re-live all of your darkest memories and let me share in them.” The voice grew colder. “Only ten have conquered the trials in five hundred years. Of them, only four have survived the price. Some couldn’t stand their own pasts and ended their lives. Others got stuck and couldn’t move on, like your brother did. Those ones eventually wasted away, trapped in their own minds.”

“You fucker! You got off on their pain, on Sam’s pain,” Dean spit out, swiveling around. “Let him go!”

“I wouldn’t even if I could, Dean,” the voice said, its volume diminishing into a conversational tone. “The pain from his memories is more delicious than anything I’ve ever tasted. He has been through so much, that one.” Dean could practically hear the predatory smile in its voice. “No, Sam has only himself to blame for being trapped. I can’t get him out. But wouldn’t you eat if the most amazing meal you had ever seen was laid out in front of you, all yours?”

“I want him back!” he yelled.

“Is that a wish?” the voice asked, malice clear.

“No! It’s a demand! If you don’t let him out of his memories, I swear, I’ll come back here and drive a wooden stake through your heart or whatever it takes to kill you,” Dean shouted. He turned around, furiously trying to locate the evil entity.

Suddenly, he was outside the cave again. He twisted around, stumbling on a rock as he got ready to storm the cave and find the son of a bitch holding his brother’s mind captive, the one who had tricked him… But there was no cave; even the symbols were gone. Only the sheer cliff remained.

Dean roared in anger, letting it all out as he kicked at the rocks in front of him. He wanted to punch something, beat it into a bloody pulp, shred the remains with blunt knives. He wanted to punish Sam’s tormentor, and it hurt that he couldn’t.

After a few calming breaths he unclenched his fists and started the long walk back to the Impala. He needed another plan, one that didn’t involve finding ancient spirits in caves that weren’t there when he needed them.

He needed to get Sam out.


	3. Fixing it

Dean’s plan wasn’t the smartest one he’d ever had, but it wasn’t the most reckless thing he’d ever done either. Maybe he should have taken more time to think it through, but the image of Sam in that hospital bed, pale and broken, screaming for Dean, kept urging him on. This was the only idea he’d come up with, so it would have to do.

The first part of the plan was the one he dreaded the most, but it turned out to be the smoothest. It was easy to sneak into the hospital that night. He would have been angry at the lack of security surrounding his brother if it hadn’t made it so simple to smuggle him out of his room and into the back of the Impala. 

Sam’s charts listed the drugs they were using to sedate him. Dean had found a pair of scrubs and walked around until he located them, then drugged him up and just wheeled him out the back door. Most of the time, acting like you had permission made people believe you actually did.

When he was back at the motel, he hauled Sam’s large body onto one of the two beds, then sat down and caught his breath. Sam had looked small and thin in that hospital bed, but carrying him had reminded him that his little brother was still freakishly huge. It had been a difficult dance to get him out of the car and into the room without jostling his broken limbs or agitating any of his many wounds. Dean had cringed every time Sam whimpered, but he had kept on going. There was no other choice.

Now, Sam was sleeping on the bed furthest from the door, and Dean was watching him. The next step in his plan had seemed simple, but now that it was before him, he was dreading it. 

After just sitting and looking at his broken brother for a long while, Dean took a deep breath, unscrewed the bottle of whiskey he kept in his duffle, and took a long swig. Then he poured some into a glass that already held the African dream root – another find from the bunker that they kept in the Impala’s trunk. Finally, he took a hair from Sam’s head, gently stroking his bangs back from his face like he’d done back when Sam was sick as a kid. The action was weirdly comforting.

After the hair joined the dream root in the glass, Dean shrugged. “No use in waiting!” He gulped it down and put the glass back on the bedside table, then lay down on the empty bed, facing Sam. Before his eyes closed, his gaze focused on how frail the sweep of Sam’s lashes looked against the bruises beneath his eyes. It was a weird contrast to his pale skin, but in a way it looked almost beautiful. 

With that thought floating at the edge of his consciousness, Dean drifted off, hopefully to a place where he could find Sam and bring him back to the world of the living and the sane.

***

When Dean opened his eyes again, he knew the dream root had worked. For one, he wasn’t lying on a crusty bedspread in a dingy motel room anymore. The second thing that convinced him was the 12-year-old Sam standing in front of him.

Dean blinked. He’d forgotten how small Sam was as a kid. 

“Sammy,” he said, taking a step forward, but the kid in front of him didn’t react. They were standing at the edge of a forest and it was night. Sam was fidgeting, walking back and forth in short bursts. As Dean looked closer, he could see his brother’s eyes widen further with fear with every moment that passed.

“Dean?” Sam hissed out. It was his name, but it was clearly not directed at him. As young Sam got more and more agitated, Dean wondered what he should do. If he couldn’t get Sam to see him, what was the point of this?

Then he heard footsteps crashing through the underbrush in the forest, snarls and panting followed by yells. Their father’s voice called out to what he recognized was himself at sixteen. Now Dean knew what was going on – this was Sam’s first hunt!

As Dean tried to remember the details of the event, Sam turned towards the noise as a huge black shape burst out of the woods. Sam’s eyes were so wide only the white was showing. Then he opened his mouth wide in a scream of pure fright. Instead of raising the gun in his hand, he stood there frozen as the black dog jumped him. Dean tried to move, but found that he couldn’t. He was stuck as an observer as the dog’s huge claws scratched Sam. Just then three bursts of gunshots ripped through the air, and the huge shape fell down on top of Sam in a still heap. 

Dean watched as the younger version of himself ran up to Sam, pulling him away from the large dog and scooping him up. He could see tears streaming down Sam’s face as he continued to mouth his now-silent scream. 

Dean remembered that Sam didn’t speak for three days after that – after their father had decided to use him as bait for his first hunt. Dean had tried to convince Sam he was safe, to find some way to get Sam to react, but it was like Sam had locked himself away somewhere inside his own mind.

Dean’s heart ached as he tore his eyes from the scene, forcing himself to turn away. Even knowing that this was just a memory, it hurt him to walk away from Sam when he was in pain. Dean had felt just as helpless then as he did now. It was a bad memory for both of them... but it didn’t seem bad enough to trap Sam in his own mind.

_ “...all of their darkest memories…” _

He hadn’t found Sam; he’d only found a bad memory. With a shudder, he realized that he’d have to go through everything Sam had experienced before he’d gotten trapped. His heart beat faster at the thought. He didn’t want to see Sam’s worst memories, but he couldn’t leave Sam here. There was no choice. He had to move forward.

***

  
  


Dean squeezed his eyes shut and took a few tentative steps away from the memory. His younger self’s voice frantically pleading Sam to speak quickly faded away, and when Dean opened his eyes again, he was no longer at the edge of a forest.

It was still dark out, but now he was looking at a car. Sam was standing next to it. Judging by his size and the length of his hair, this had to be when Sam was in his mid-twenties. He studied the surroundings, and as he spotted Ruby he could place exactly what year this was. 

Acid filled his stomach at the sight of the demon bitch, making Dean miss part of what was happening. When he focused on Sam again, his brother had a phone to his ear. Dean shouldn’t have been able to hear what was said, but it was clear as day. “Listen to me you blood-sucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam, a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.”

It was his own voice, but Dean didn’t remember ever saying those words to his brother. He looked around and saw the church behind the car, placing the phone call’s exact time, and his gut twisted. This was the moment he had called Sam to tell him that whatever happened, they were still brothers. Sam had never gotten that message. “Son of a bitch!”

When Sam reached the end of the message, his face crumpled. Dean watched as his shoulders slumped forward and his jaw tensed. He took a step forward. “Sam, that’s not what I said!” he started. “Someone must have changed it, Zachariah or Ruby…” Sam didn’t react, of course; this was just a memory. 

When Sam put away the phone, Dean ached to go to his brother and embrace him. No wonder he’d gone through with killing Lilith. If he thought Dean hated him and wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t have had anyone but Ruby to turn to.

Dean wanted to punch someone. Even the fact that he had killed both Zachariah and Ruby wasn’t satisfying enough. He ground his teeth together and turned away, wishing he’d somehow known. He wanted to tell Sam that he’d never thought he was a monster, that he’d wanted to help him those last hours before Lucifer got free.

He couldn’t, though, and with braced shoulders he stepped away from the memory, the image of Sam’s spirit broken by the fake message on his phone etched into his mind.

***

When he focused on the world around him again, Dean was standing in a dark apartment. It seemed vaguely familiar, and as he looked around the bedroom with its double-sized bed, his stomach sank. When Sam entered the bedroom and flopped down on the bed, closing his eyes, he knew. 

He knew, and he didn’t want to be here. He started to back away, but there was a wall at his back. As he flicked his eyes to the Sam on the bed again, he saw a red drop hit his brow and he followed Sam’s gaze to the ceiling.

Last time, he had arrived too late to witness Jessica’s death, but now he could clearly see her white nightgown-clad body on the ceiling, blood spreading across her stomach and dripping down on Sam. She looked broken and terrified. 

Memories of what he had glimpsed when he was four blossomed in Dean’s mind as Sam started screaming, reaching for Jess. Then heat bloomed across his face as she burst into flames.

Dean saw his younger self run into the room and grab Sam to pull him out. At the time, all he could think about was saving his brother and getting him away from the fire. Now, looking at it from a different angle, he could see the pain and anger in his brother’s eyes as he struggled towards Jess, futilely trying to save her. It made him wonder if maybe he hadn’t pulled Sam out after all... at least not all of him. 

Dean closed his eyes. He felt the flames’ heat on his skin, and heard himself struggle to pull Sam out of the building despite Sam’s screams for Jess, and he ached.

***

The heat and screams faded away, but when Dean opened his eyes again, he felt sick. He knew in an instant when and where they were. This was one of  _ his  _ worst memories. He felt like maybe he shouldn’t stay for this – it had been bad enough the first time – but then his thoughts were interrupted by shouting voices.

“If you leave this family, don’t bother coming back!” his father yelled.

“You know, most parents would be proud of their child getting a full ride at Stanford,” Sam yelled back. ”You’d rather throw me out!”

Dean could see them both. Sam was still scrawny at seventeen, even though he was taller than Dean already. His father looked like he had throughout most of Dean’s childhood – large, well-muscled and capable. He had a bit less gray in his hair and beard than the last time Dean had seen him, but otherwise, he was the same.

He could also see himself. He was 21 then, but he looked younger as he watched his whole life ripped to shreds. His family was breaking apart.

“You know we aren’t like other people!” his father yelled. “We know what’s out there and we have an obligation to fight it!”

“No, we don’t,” Sam shouted back. “It’s not all on us!” Then he looked over at Dean and it seemed like all the air left him. “It isn’t worth it, sacrificing our lives.”

“Then leave,” their father said in a tight voice, “but if you walk out that door, don’t you dare come back!”

In the memory, Dean looked away from Sam, not daring to see his brother’s response. This time, he didn’t take his eyes from Sam for a moment when he heard their father’s words. His eyes grew steely and his jaw locked, like he had just shut down his emotions. If Dean hadn’t known his brother so well, he wouldn’t have seen the minute signs of what this was actually doing to him. His lips were trembling slightly, and his throat was working. His eyes looked hard, but the shimmer in them spoke of pain. He wasn’t looking at their dad, either – he was looking at 21-year-old Dean. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Sam blinked twice in rapid succession and then turned away. “Fine!” he said. “I’ll leave. You won’t hear from me again.”

He stalked out of the room, arms close to his body, and Dean wished he could do it all over again. At the time, he was afraid of Sam leaving. He hadn’t wanted to lose his brother. Now he could see that all Sam had wanted was his support, and he longed to go and put his arms around Sam, telling him not to go.

Of course, that wasn’t what happened. Sam exited the room as Dean and his father stood there, pointedly not looking at each other. This time, though, Dean followed him like a shadow. As soon as he was out of sight of the rest of his family, Sam closed the door to his small bedroom and crumpled to the floor, his long gangly legs just folding beneath him.

He let out a broken sob, so full of pain that Dean wanted to cry. He might not have been the one to tell Sam to never come back, but by not speaking up for him, he’d broken a part of his brother. 

This time Dean didn’t leave him alone. He stood in the dark watching his brother trying to keep his sobs and gasps of pain silent as he curled up on the floor and cried.

***

The memories kept on coming, just as the spirit in the cave had said they would. Dean saw Sam detox in the panic room, and himself leaving his brother there alone, only for Castiel of all people to let him out. He saw Gadreel use Sam’s body to kill Kevin, and Sam let Lucifer out of his cage. He saw himself dying again and again as the trickster messed with Sam. 

That one was tough. Sam had explained roughly what had happened, but seeing it was something else. He watched himself get shot, run over by a car, crushed by a piano, slip and fall in the shower... and each time, his heart ached at the pain and devastation on Sam’s face.

Then he saw himself go to Hell.

Over and over the memories came – bad hunts, childhood traumas, and Dean raging against him, calling him a bad brother and saying Benny was better. He saw himself as a demon, chasing Sam through the bunker, and later, himself again, standing over Sam with the Mark of Cain bright on his arm and Death’s scythe in his hands. Through it all, the sinking feeling in his stomach got worse and worse.

_ So many of these bad memories were his fault. _

Dean almost killed his brother. Dean made a deal and went to hell. Dean called Sam a freak and a monster. Dean made Sam think he was worthless.

It was excruciating living through it all, seeing all of Sam’s worst memories. But as bad as they were, none of them seemed terrible enough to keep Sam locked away in his own mind. It might keep him away from Dean, but not reality, Sam was stronger than that.

Then it came, the agonized scream that had burst out of Sam in the hospital. When the memory faded in and the screams continued, Dean realized why it sounded so familiar. 

It was Hell.

***

This Hell didn’t match what Dean had experienced, either as tortured or torturer. It had to be the Cage.

He didn’t want to see this. He couldn’t go through it. Dean turned around, shielding his ears to block out the screams. Then he paused. If he didn’t get through this, Sam would be left here, trapped in memories like this one until he wasted away. 

He turned back around and  _ saw _ .

Sam was bent over a metal table, his hands tied in front of him. The position stretched him out into a taut line, muscles trembling with the strain. His back had been flogged skinless, and the blood that ran down his sides was pooling on the table and floor beneath him. It made Dean nauseous just to look at the scene, but what was clearly about to happen was even worse.

Then Sam stopped screaming.

“Please don’t,” he began pleading, pulling at the ropes binding him, struggling to get away. Blood started to run down his wrists as well, where the ropes scraped the skin away, “please, not again…” Then Lucifer walked up behind Sam, naked, and lovingly stroked his ass.

“Don’t be that way, Sam,” Lucifer said. “You know you want it bad, and I’m gonna give you what you need.” His voice was cajoling and surprisingly tender.

Dean looked away, but he couldn’t shut out Sam’s sound of agony when he was penetrated.

“Please, no more,” Sam whimpered. 

It didn’t matter if Sam couldn’t see him. Dean had to make this stop. But then…

“Dean,” Sam breathed.

Dean’s gaze snapped up to his brother’s face.  _ Sam was looking at him. _

It was really him. After all those memories, Dean had found the real Sam.

“No, don’t let  _ him _ see me like this,” Sam begged, squeezing his eyes shut. “Stop it! Please… I’ll do anything.”

“Sam, it’s really me!” he said, trying to get Sam’s attention.

“It can’t be, it’s a trick,” Sam said. He opened his eyes again, looking at Dean. “You can’t be here.”

Dean focused on the pain in Sam’s eyes, trying to block out everything else that was happening. “When you were five you scraped your knee and asked me to kiss it better, but I refused. You told me that you wished you had a mom who could do it for you, and in the end I did it just so you would stop crying.” He took a breath. “When you found out about monsters, about this world, about hunting, you made me swear that I wouldn’t tell dad that you knew.”

Sam stared at him. His body was wracked with tremors and moans of pain escaped his lips, but his eyes seemed a little less dazed.

“When you came back after your very first hunt and wouldn’t talk to me for days, I would hold you tight and sing to you whenever dad wasn’t around.” Dean’s voice broke on that last one. It was fresh in his mind, since he’d just seen that hunt through Sam’s eyes.

“I’m real, and I’m here,” he said. He cupped Sam’s chin in one hand, stroking the sweat from his brow with the other. “Please, Sam. This is just a memory. You got stuck, but you’ve got to get past this and come with me.”

Sam’s eyes cleared and he held Dean’s gaze. “It’s really you?” Then he winced, and a scream erupted from him as the devil dug his hand into his flayed back during a particularly hard thrust.

“Sam! Sam, focus,” Dean said, stroking Sam’s cheek with his thumb and trying not to cringe. “You finished the trials – you saved me. This is a memory. You can get out of here whenever you like.”

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, Lucifer shimmered and faded away. Instantly, Dean undid the ropes that bound Sam to the table. Then he was at his brother’s side. Ignoring the blood and gore that was Sam’s back and the blood still running down his legs, he slung Sam’s arm across his shoulders and walked him away until everything faded to black.

***

Of course that wasn’t the end. Maybe he should have expected that – their lives were never that easy. Whenever one or both of them had been through literal hell, life always threw more shit their way. Dean  _ knew  _ this. But even so, he’d really thought that this was it, the bad memories were over and now he and Sam would wake up.

He was still supporting a staggering Sam, his shirt drenched with his brother’s blood, when it got lighter again. This time they didn’t see just one memory at a time; instead, a maelstrom of images and sounds descended upon them.

Dick Roman exploded in black goo and Dean disappeared from view. Guilt flooded through Sam as he got the phone call that Dean was alive, when he’d _ given up  _ on looking for him. Sam didn’t break Dean’s deal in time and sat clinging to Dean’s shredded body. Charlie burned on a pyre, Dean’s disappointed eyes seeking out Sam’s as he told him it should have been Sam up there, and Sam believed him. On and on it went, never relenting or pausing.

It was as if everything Sam had felt in those moments pulsed through Dean as well. The guilt and shame overflowed, making his breath stutter, and his hands released their steady hold on Sam, who fell to his knees. Dean shook his head violently and with a hand pressed to his aching chest, he understood. Sam was remembering every time he thought he had let Dean down. All of these memories were of Dean being hurt, angry, or sad, and all because of Sam.

It was too much, but they had to get through it. In Sam’s memories, Dean and Sam fought. As memory-Sam beat memory-Dean up and left with Ruby, he fell to his knees next to the real Sam, gripping his downturned head in both hands and tilting it up, trying to catch his brother’s gaze. 

Sam’s eyes were unfocused again. Around them, memory-Sam failed to close the Gate to Hell and was dying pointlessly anyway.

Dean lifted his arm. It felt like moving through syrup. He slapped Sam once, twice, three times, before his brother locked eyes with him, a thin stream of blood flowing from his mouth.

“You have never let me down,” he said. His voice was steady but he could see the doubt that flickered in Sam’s eyes. “You have to believe me. You made mistakes, well, so did I. You’re my brother. There’s nothing you could do that I wouldn’t forgive.” 

“Dean,” Sam whispered. There was so much pain in his voice.

“Sam...” Dean took a breath and willed himself to put down the mask that he used to hide his feelings. “Sammy, I love you. You gotta wake up. Come home to me.” Removing the wall that blocked people out was one of the hardest things he’d ever done – vulnerability got people like them killed – but he hoped Sam could see the truth that hid behind it.

“I’ve hurt you so much,” Sam said. “I’ve left you time and time again, even though I knew what it would do to you. I’ve never been strong enough, not good enough...” He lifted a trembling hand to Dean’s face. His focus was still on Dean, but the memories swirling around them tugged at his attention, and his eyes darted to the sides now and again.

Dean threaded his hand through his brother’s hair. Every time Sam’s attention wavered, he tugged gently to get it back where it belonged. “Sam…” He paused, trying to find the words he was always afraid to say.

He took too long.

Sam’s eyes wandered to the side, trapped in another memory, and nothing Dean could do brought them back. He tugged his hair, then yanked on it, and even slapped Sam again when that didn’t work. He told him he was forgiven, that there wasn’t even anything to forgive. 

Nothing worked.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. He was so close to saving Sam, but now it seemed like he was lost. “Come on, Sammy, don’t do this!” he begged. “I can’t do it, I can’t live without you. You’re  _ everything  _ that is bright, happy and pure in my life. Without you there’s nothing.”

Desperately, Dean put his hand behind Sam’s neck and pulled him closer, touching their foreheads together. After a deep breath, he moved forward and gently put his lips to his brother’s. It was a soft kiss, but when Sam didn’t respond it grew more desperate, more demanding. His heart was beating painfully in his chest, thinking this was it, this was when he truly failed, but as he pulled back, hazel eyes slowly blinked, looking at him with awe.

“Dean?” 

Everything went soft and dark around them then, and he could no longer hear or feel Sam or his memories. Then, even the darkness faded.

***

When he woke up he was at Sam’s side instantly. He watched his brother’s face, rapt, until his eyelashes fluttered softly. When Sam opened his eyes, Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and sat down at the side of the bed.

“Dean?” Sam asked. “What happened?”

Dean’s lips pushed together in a thin line. Sam knew what his worst memories were. He had condemned himself to relive the Cage over and over again for Dean until he wasted away. Nobody deserved that, especially not Sam. He had sacrificed himself to save the world, and the world wasn’t even worth it. And Dean, he was worth so much less than that.

“You were stupid is what happened,” Dean said. “First you put yourself through some bullshit trials, which got you hurt so badly they shipped you straight to the ER when they found you. And then that thing you cut a deal with got you trapped in your own worst memories, and I had to walk through all of them to get you back out.”

Sam shrank back against his pillows. “You were really there?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yeah, I couldn’t let you waste away there, now could I?” Dean said. He didn’t like how Sam flinched away from him, although... it’s not like it wasn’t justified. Sam had reasons. After all, almost all of those memories that tortured Sam had happened because of Dean. Even Lucifer. And he’d just stood there and watched as his brother… as  _ that _ happened… and then right after he’d gotten him free from that, he’d gone and kissed him. His  _ brother _ .

Yeah, Sam had reasons all right.

Dean withdrew the hand he had lifted towards Sam’s face, wincing as Sam’s smile of relief turned sour.

“You saw it all?” Sam asked, pulling away even more. “Everything? The.. the Cage? What  _ he  _ did?”

“Yeah, not that I wanted to,” Dean said. “It’s gonna take a lot of bottles of whisky to forget that.” He’d been happier not knowing how much pain he had caused Sam. “What were you thinking, Sam? Why did you do it?”

“I had to save you, Dean. It was my turn.” Sam’s hand crept across the bedspread towards Dean.

“It wasn’t worth it, Sam!” he said, turning his back on him. “ _ I’m _ not worth it.” He sprang to his feet. If Sam touched him now, Dean knew he’d wrap himself around his brother. He knew what Sam’s lips felt like, something he’d tried his whole life to not imagine, but now couldn’t stop thinking about. He wanted to kiss him again, kiss him senseless and never let go. 

He couldn’t do that to Sam. After everything he’d been through, he needed normal. He didn’t need  _ Dean _ .

“You could have died, suffering endlessly, and what was it worth? A sick freak that wants to kiss his own brother.” He felt nauseous as the words slipped out of him, heard the sharp inhale behind him, but he didn’t look back. Instead, he closed his eyes, hands clenched so hard into fists that the skin was pulled taut and red across his knuckles.

For a moment, all was silent.

“I need to leave,” Sam said quietly behind him. Dean whirled around, but Sam wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Sam, you can’t,” Dean said. “You’re stitched up in over a dozen places, your leg is broken and you have second degree burns on your feet. You just got your brain back, how do you think –”

_ “I can’t stay.” _ Sam’s voice was trembling. “I can take care of myself. You don’t have to.”

Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach. Now that Sam knew what Dean kept walled away, he couldn’t stand his presence. He wouldn’t even let Dean take care of him.  _ Of course he didn’t want another pervert’s hands on him. _ Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat, trying to figure out how to answer that.

“Of course I need to take care of you. You’re my brother.”

“Dean…” The pain in Sam’s voice cut right through Dean.  _ He  _ did that. Just like in all his memories. He’d never wanted to see Sam filled with agony like that again. If Sam had looked him in the eye at that moment, he was sure it would have killed him – dead from a broken heart. But he couldn’t even look at him at all. He just stared firmly down on his hands resting in his lap.

“...If that’s what you want,” he said. Once again he turned away from his brother. He didn’t regret the kiss. It had saved Sam, and he had gotten to feel his brother’s lips against his own at least once, but this? This was killing him. “Where will you go?” 

Sam let out a sigh. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve planned anything.” His voice was steady now.

“Take the bunker,” Dean said. “I’ve got my baby. She’s all the home I’ve ever needed.” Even if she wasn’t much of a home without Sam riding shotgun.

“Dean, you don’t need to do anything for me,” Sam said, and his voice was sharp now. Of course there wasn’t anything he could do for his brother. He’d just ruin his life even more if he tried.

“At least let me drive you back,” he said. He had to bite his lip until he tasted copper to not beg Sam to stay. He wasn’t that pathetic... Who was he kidding? He was, but Sam was better off without him. “Your leg’s busted.”

“My left leg, Dean. I can still drive.”

There he was again, treating Sam like a kid. How many times had Sam told him he wanted to be seen as an equal? At least he could give him that.

“Okay, then I’ll take you to your car. You want to clean up first?” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Sam grunted. His eyes were hard, but he could see the pain deep inside, and Dean’s heart broke again when he looked into them.  _ He did that. _ He’d hurt his brother. Not just this time, but again and again, ever since they were kids. 

He averted his gaze quickly. “I’ll go outside, give you some space.” He wouldn’t make Sam even more uncomfortable by offering to help clean him up. It went against every fiber of his being to not help Sam when he was hurt, but he could do this. For Sam. “Your leg is broken, don’t put any weight on it,” he said, bringing over the crutches he’d stolen from the hospital. Sam took them, carefully making sure he didn’t touch Dean as his fingers curled around the metal. 

Dean couldn’t stand seeing his brother leave, but if it pained him this much to be close to Dean he would let him go. Without a backwards glance, he picked up his keys from the bedside table and walked out.

***

Sam winced as the door shut. Dean was so disgusted he couldn’t even look at him. He’d hoped Dean would never find out exactly what kind of things happened to him in the Cage, but maybe it was inevitable. And now that he had, just as Sam knew he would, he couldn’t look at him the same. Dean had withdrawn, not even wanting to touch him. 

Sam didn’t blame him. The memories of Lucifer torturing and degrading him still raged in the front of his mind. He felt disgusting, like there was blood and worse sticking to his skin, shining like a neon light above him. He had let that happen, let himself be used like that. And it wasn’t the first time either. He had buried it deep, hadn’t thought about it in years, but there it was. 

He undressed quickly and stood in front of the bathroom faucet, turning it to scalding hot and wishing he could have managed a shower without destroying his cast. There was something even more pathetic about trying to scrub away the touches from his skin with a washcloth.

He wondered if Dean had seen the last memory, the one Sam had gotten caught in right before he’d kissed him.

He scrubbed harder at his skin. It turned red underneath the too-hot water, but it wasn’t enough. 

He hoped Dean hadn’t seen the memory, hoped he hadn’t seen Sam learn the truth about himself that day in high school. Pressed against a wall underneath the bleachers, a hand across his mouth and another fumbling with his pants, he had been shown the truth. The hot breath in his ear, the voice rough with lust, they’d told him how irresistible he was. While he was trying not to scream at the pain, not to be discovered like this –  _ Dad couldn’t know! And Dean… Dean really couldn’t know! _ – the grown man behind him had told him over and over that he didn’t want to do this, but he couldn’t stop. That he’d taken one look at Sam when he walked into class and known what Sam needed, what he was good for.

“Everyone who sees you knows,” he’d panted in Sam’s ear, grunting, “Oh God, so good!”

Sam had bitten his own tongue until it bled. No one could see this.

“If they saw you now, they’d all want a piece, you know.” He tilted his head toward the people above them as he thrust hard into Sam, the normal people sitting on the bleachers watching the game while  _ this _ happened beneath them.

When the man had grunted out his release, he’d relaxed his grip and Sam had pushed him away, pulling up his pants as he ran. The voice haunted him as he fled. “This was your fault! I couldn’t help myself. You’re unclean and you know it. Soon  _ everyone  _ will know.”

He was supposed to help out on a hunt that night. Instead, he stayed huddled in the school bathroom, throwing up and trying to staunch the bleeding.

Dean ended up in the hospital that night because Sam wasn’t there. Because Sam was too weak. Because Sam was unclean.

He scrubbed the skin at the back of his thighs and ass using his nails. He wanted to get clean, but he knew he couldn’t. Dean’s kiss had broken him out of the memory, but now he realised the truth. 

He couldn’t get away from it. Now it was visible to Dean as well, and no amount of washing, no matter how much he scrubbed or how hot the water was, would get rid of it. He had wanted Dean forever, and now Dean had seen him for what he was. 

Dean had kissed him even though he knew it was wrong, and now he hated himself for it. He couldn’t help himself, just like all the others, and that was on  _ Sam.  _ Dean would wallow in self-disgust, and Sam couldn’t be the reason Dean felt that way.

Blood was running from his skin where his nails had scratched it raw. He turned the water off and forced himself to stop, towel dry and change into clean clothes. Then he packed his things, managing as best he could with the broken leg and the crutches, and slung the bag across his shoulders.

As he was about to leave the room, he looked down at the shirt Dean had left lying on the bed closest to the door. His brother’s bed. He always took that one, so he could shield Sam from anything that might burst through the door. 

Dean couldn’t protect him from this. Now that he knew how pathetic Sam was, how filthy, he probably wouldn’t even want to anymore. It was Sam’s time to protect his brother – even if that meant protecting him from Sam. He’d been too weak to do it before this, but he knew he could do it.  _ He could. _

Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, holding back the ache in his heart. Then he opened them again and went out the door.


	4. The way back

Sam exited the motel room with his bag slung across his shoulders, moving precariously on the too-short crutches. Dean took a step forward, but at Sam’s glare he stopped. The whole ride back to the park where Sam had left his car was silent. It was heavy with unsaid words, but Dean couldn’t think of anything he could say or do to make it better. 

If he’d believed it would work, he would have lied and said, “It was the only thing I could think of. I’d tried everything else, so I just kissed you to get you to snap out of it. It wasn’t serious.” But he’d already said he was a sick freak, so now Sam knew.

When Sam stepped out of the Impala and bent down to close the door, Dean took a deep breath. “Take care of yourself,” he said. “And you know my number, so you know, if you need anything…” His voice trailed off. Sam’s eyes had turned glassy.

“Okay,” was all he said before he turned around and walked away.

Maybe it was for the best. Dean wasn’t any good for Sam. 

It still felt like a punch right in the gut.

He got wasted that night to the point of blacking out on the bathroom floor, but after that, he forced himself to move on. He continued hunting, maybe not as fast or as good as with his brother, but he’d worked jobs alone before. He heard from other hunters that Sam was out there doing the same, and he took care to keep tabs on what he heard so they wouldn’t bump into each other.

Other than that, he tried to not think about Sam too much, and most of the time it worked. However, his brother popped into his mind at the most inconvenient times. One time, he was trying to dig up a grave and simultaneously keep an eye out for its inhabitant’s angry spirit when he suddenly thought he saw Sam’s feet at the edge of the grave. When he looked up, expecting to see the face he longed for, the ghost smacked him right into the grave’s dirt wall. Fortunately, he’d recovered quickly and spent the next ten minutes alternating between the shotgun full of rock salt and the shovel. He managed to get the bones burning before the ghost could give him a concussion, but just barely.

During a werewolf case, he thought he saw Sam when he entered the police station, but when the guy turned around it was just a pimply, gangly teenager. And sometimes he glimpsed Sam’s broad shoulders and long brown hair in crowds, but whenever he looked closer, it was never him. And so it went on.

So when he crept down the stairs to the basement while he was taking out a nest of vampires and saw Sam’s body hanging in chains from the ceiling, he didn’t think much about it at first. It wasn’t until after he had beheaded the second vamp and Sam was still there that he reacted.

“God, Sammy,” he said, rushing to his brother’s side. Sam’s neck and arms were covered in bite marks, and almost every inch of his skin was bloody. It was layered in browns and reds, dried, tacky and shining wet. When Dean moved to pick the chains’ lock, Sam stirred and whimpered.

“Hang in there, Sammy, I got you,” Dean said. Then the lock gave way and the chains unfurled, and he had to catch his brother as he fell to the ground. 

Dean didn’t want to leave him, but he had to make sure there were no more vampires in the house before he could safely get Sam out of there. As he took off his jacket and covered Sam with it, his brother opened his eyes, foggy with pain and delirium. “Dean?” he said in a broken voice.

“It’s okay, Sammy, I’m here,” Dean said. “Did they make you drink?” Sam just blinked at him, his gaze unfocused.

“Damn it, Sam, this is important!” he said, taking Sam’s face between his hands, making sure he had his attention. “Did you drink any of their blood?”

“No,” Sam croaked out between cracked lips.

Dean sighed in relief. “Okay. I just have to leave for a little bit, but I’ll be back as soon as I rip the rest of the vamps in this place limb from limb.” He finished draping his jacket over his brother’s shivering form and grabbed his machete. Then he hesitated a moment before flipping it over and pressing it firmly into Sam’s hand. “Take this.” He pulled a long serrated knife from its sheath at his hip for himself. Any other vampires that got in his way would be sorry.

The rest of the combat was fast and rage-filled. There were three more vamps, more than he would usually have felt comfortable taking on by himself at one time, but now it was easy. They had touched his little brother, kept him like food, and for that they would pay.

Once the fighting was over, he ran down the stairs. Sam was huddled defensively in a corner, clutching the machete in front of him so hard his knuckles looked bloodless, while still trying to cover as much of his naked form as he could with the jacket. It was a pitiful attempt, as Sam was a big man, but he managed to look a lot smaller than he actually was. 

Dean’s heart clenched, and he hurried forward, but when Sam saw him, he shrank back even more.

“Sam?”

“Just give me a moment, Dean, and I’ll walk out of here myself,” Sam said. Dean could see how difficult it was for Sam to loosen the death grip he had on the machete, but one by one he unclenched his fingers until the weapon clanged to the floor beside him. “You don’t have to touch me.”

The words hit Dean like a bag of bricks to the face. It was just like before – almost an instant replay. Sam didn’t want him close. There were a lot of things he wanted to say. He settled on, “Don’t be ridiculous.” His brother could barely sit up, let alone walk out of there under his own power.

“Please Dean, don’t,” Sam said, his voice broken and choppy. “I can’t, not now, not after–” He cut his words off sharply, but Dean could see the pain in his eyes.

“After what?” Dean asked with a sinking feeling.

Sam kept his teeth gritted closed as he struggled to his feet. Dean was at his side in an instant, reaching out for him. He stumbled slightly, trying to pull away, and Dean had to grip both him and the jacket he tried to clutch to his chest. With some awkward shuffling he got the jacket around Sam at the same time as his own arms supported him.

“Sam, don’t fight me on this. We need to get you out of here, get you cleaned up, pumped full of antibiotics and maybe give you a tetanus shot,” he said. “God knows where those vamps have been…”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath and Dean tried to let it go, he really did, but he couldn’t. “What aren’t you telling me?” He half-walked, half-carried his brother towards the basement stairs. It was clear those bastards had hurt him, but he felt there was more going on. The vampires were lucky he had to get Sam out of there; otherwise, he would’ve taken his time and made them suffer.

“What do you  _ think _ , Dean?” Sam asked.

Going up the basement stairs wasn’t fun; Sam could barely keep to his feet. Dean just gritted his teeth and kept a strong grip on his waist. 

“I know they fed on you,” Dean said as they moved through the house. “How long did they have you, anyway?”

“Why does it matter?” Sam asked.

Dean didn’t know how to answer that. Sam didn’t sound like he cared.  _ Why? _ Was it that self-sacrificing martyr in him again, the one that thought him trading his life for a couple of randos was fair? That thought that so long as he took a few monsters with him on the way out, the world would be a better place even if he wasn’t in it?

“It matters, Sam,” he said as they got outside. He had parked just in front of the house, relying on daylight and the lack of neighbors to keep him unnoticed, and man was he glad he had. He opened the door to the backseat and helped Sam sit down on it, bare feet resting on the gravel driveway. As Sam hit the seat he let out a gasp of pain.

Then he was quiet. He just looked down, clutching the jacket to him. Dean huffed out a breath and grabbed a bottle of water and a blanket from the trunk. He tried to wrap the blanket around his brother, but Sam shied away. With a pang of self-loathing, Dean handed it to him instead. 

As he wrapped himself in the blanket, Sam’s movements were clearly strained and painful. Dean couldn't watch him refusing help without wanting to break something, so he tossed the water bottle where Sam could reach it and went back to the trunk.

He pulled out accelerant and matches. Right after his own stint in hell, the smell and heat of fire made him sick, but now it felt satisfying to walk through the house, dousing the floor and furniture, and dropping matches to send flames racing through the old structure. He couldn’t kill the vampires again, but this would utterly destroy what was left of them, along with any trace of what they’d done to his brother. When he was finished, he leaned against Baby next to Sam and watched as the fire spread rapidly.

“It shouldn’t matter to you,” Sam said suddenly. His voice sounded so defeated. “You shouldn’t care about me.”

Dean’s hackles raised at the comment. “I know I shouldn’t, not the way I do, but I can’t stop it,” he said. “Now let’s get out of here.” He pushed off from the sleek black metal behind him and started to move around the car. 

“Wait!” Sam said. “I want…” he paused and swallowed before he looked up at Dean, eyes shimmering. “Can I sit in the front?”

Dean shook his head but didn’t protest as he silently helped his brother out of the backseat and into Baby’s passenger seat. When he slid in behind the wheel, his brother riding shotgun where he was supposed to be, everything felt the way it should. It made it that much more painful to know that it was only temporary.

“My car’s out by the road,“ Sam said. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window. “This area doesn’t get much traffic. It’s probably still there.”

“I’ll pick up your stuff, but we’re going back to my motel,” Dean said. When Sam looked like he was about to protest, he cut him off. “Don’t fight me on this.”

Sam struggled for a moment, but in the end he relaxed back against the seat. They were quiet on the ride. When they got to Sam’s car, Dean had to jimmy it open since neither of them knew where the keys were. He grabbed Sam’s gear and hurried back to the Impala, digging out some sweatpants and a hoodie before tossing the rest in the back.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to the passenger seat. “I got you some clothes,” he said. Sam reached a shaking hand out towards them, still stubbornly clutching the blanket tight around him. 

“ You're down at least a pint and haven't eaten in what, two? three days? ,” he said, trying to be gentle. “Let me help you.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Sam looked away, but not before Dean saw a tear run down his cheek. Sam’s large frame shook with smothered sobs.

“No, come on, no chick flick moments, dude,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. He hated seeing Sam cry. It always made him want to cry.

“You can’t touch me, Dean,” Sam said. 

Dean gritted his teeth and pushed forward. “Well, I’m gonna, ‘cause dude, you are in no shape to do this on your own,” he said. Without waiting for a reply, he lifted Sam’s legs and shifted him until he was sitting on the edge of the seat, his feet resting on the ground. Then, he knelt down and gently pulled the blanket away so he could thread his brother’s feet into the legs of the pants, one by one. 

After Sam’s outburst, Dean was amazed that he didn't struggle or snark at him. But he kept perfectly still and let Dean do what he needed, just like back when he was four and would sit on the bed with his feet dangling above the floor, patiently waiting for his brother to help him get dressed. It wasn’t until Dean pulled the soft material over Sam’s thighs, fingers accidentally brushing against his smooth skin, that he looked up at Sam to get him to lift his hips. What he saw made him drop his hands and back away quickly – Sam was white as a sheet, teeth chattering and eyes tightly squeezed shut.

“Sam?” he said tentatively. His brother didn’t react.

Dean raked his hand through his hair, at a loss of what to do. Carefully he leaned forward and brushed his fingers along Sam’s cheek and jaw. “Sammy?”

Sam’s eyes fluttered open slowly. His gaze was wild and fearful, but when he saw Dean, he blinked a couple of times and the color started to return to his cheeks. 

“Dean?” he asked, like he’d somehow forgotten where he was.

“Yeah, Sammy, I’m here. Just…” Dean took a breath. “Just finish getting your pants on and we’ll go.” He turned around while Sam did as he was told, trying to ignore how his brother flinched in pain as he shifted in the seat.

After Sam’s reaction Dean opted for tossing the hoodie in Sam’s lap before closing the car door and walking around to the driver’s seat. A glance over at Sam showed his brother still keeping the blanket pulled tight around his shoulders and torso. Dean shrugged and started the car. Sam’d keep warm enough.

Dean waited until they were on the road to say anything. Here in the Impala, Sam couldn’t get away or avoid talking. “You gonna tell me what happened back in that house now?”

“I can’t,” Sam said in a small voice.

“Why not?” Dean asked, glancing over at his brother. He was huddled up, keeping the blanket as a shield between himself and the world. “It’s me, Sam.”

“That’s why I can’t tell you,” Sam said and Dean could hear the pain in his voice. He grasped the wheel harder.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. He’d let Sam avoid the topic before, but this time he wasn’t going to let it go, even if he didn’t want to hear the answer. It was like having a sore tooth, you couldn’t help sticking your tongue in there even though it hurt. He needed to know what those vampires had done to his brother, and Sam needed to not bottle it all up. Dean knew from experience how that worked out. Keeping the pain inside only let it fester and grow, only to explode at the worst possible time. Dean might be no good for Sam, might need to leave as soon as Sam was better, for his own good, but he could do this, he could support his brother through whatever happened when he was a captive.

_ “It’s you, Dean!” _ The words started to flood out of Sam, punctuated by small sobs and hitches of breath. ”You can’t know! You already know way too much, and look how that turned out. You couldn’t even look at me in Denver. You couldn’t‒”

“Hey, that’s not true,” Dean said, a horrible feeling rising in his chest.

“I was there, Dean, you know as well as I do that you couldn't stand it, you didn’t want to know‒” he bit off his words as Dean raised his hand.

He pursed his lips in thought. Some of it was true. It had hurt  _ way  _ too much to know all the pain Sam hid, but his brother was spinning those feelings into something they weren’t. “Well, I’m here now. Try me.”

“You really wanna know, Dean?” Sam said, his voice flat, but steady. 

Dean bit his tongue so hard it hurt. He needed to know what Sam thought happened in Denver, but he needed even more to shut up and listen, if he wanted to find out what had happened to Sam with the vampires.

“They used me, Dean, just like everyone else before them did. They tied me up because I didn’t fight enough to stop them. And they kept me there, left me hanging and fed on me again and again. And they… they…” his breathing became choppy and a sob escaped him. “It’s like they keep telling me, Dean, I’m unclean. Everyone’s bitch.“ He huffed out an angry breath. “Take me back to my car. You shouldn’t be near me.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Sam?” Dean said, looking over at his brother in horror. Was he understanding Sam right? “None of that was your fault.” His stomach roiled, but he determinedly swallowed it down. He couldn’t stop seeing his brother in the Cage, bent over that table with Lucifer thrusting into him. It was all too easy for his imagination to feed him images of Sam in chains in that basement, with vampires using him the same way the devil had as they swallowed down his blood. Five dead vampires were burning to a crisp behind them. Dean sorted through them in his mind. Four of them had been male. _How many of them had‒?_ _No!_ He couldn’t let his mind go there. 

“You don’t know that,” Sam spat. “I wasn’t strong enough, and I got caught. I’m  _ never  _ strong enough – always too weak.”

“If there’s one thing you’re not, it’s weak,” Dean said. “In Denver that spirit said that in 500 years, only ten people survived its stupid trials, and you’re one of them. You’re not weak, Sam. You’re a goddamn hero.”

Sam looked dumbstruck, and the expression made Dean cringe. Had he really failed that badly at being a big brother? Was he that bad at telling Sam how awesome he was? “There were a lot of vampires there, Sam. Not even Dad could have taken them all. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Just like the Cage wasn’t my fault?” Sam asked lowly.

“What’re you talking about?”

“I fought him, but I was too weak. I gave in and bent over for him, let him do whatever he wanted without a struggle.”

“I saw you in the Cage. You were tied up, and you struggled. You did.”

Sam’s eyes flicked up to Dean’s, challenging him. “I  _ came _ , Dean. I came when he fucked me. Every. Single. Time.”

“That’s not the point, Sam. And it’s still not your fault.” 

“Of course it is. I’ve never been pure, and you know it. Getting fed demon blood as a baby and being Lucifer’s perfect vessel was just the beginning. I did the rest on my own. Guzzling down what Ruby gave me for more than a year left things behind that I can never get rid of. I spoil everything I touch.” Sam looked straight at Dean. “I even corrupted you.”

“What?” The car swerved as Dean gaped at his brother. He turned the wheel sharply, tires screaming as he pulled over to the side of the road.

“You kissed me, Dean. You saw what happened, you  _ saw _ , and it infected you.” He lowered his eyes, biting his lip until it was pale and bloodless. “I’m sick. I know it’s not right, but I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember. I hid it because it’s wrong, but now you’ve seen what I’m really like, and it spread to you like a disease. It made you want me back.  _ He  _ taught me what I am, what I’m good for. I’m his whore, nothing else, and now you know it, too. Now I’ve tainted you.”

“Yeah, I saw it, and I wish I hadn’t, but that’s because it killed me to see you hurt, Sammy, and not be able to do a damn thing about it. You’re nobody’s whore, you know that, regardless of what Lucifer or any other goddamn asshole says.” He reached a hand out towards Sam. “I know you.”

Sam watched the hand suspiciously, like it might turn into a slap at any moment. “I’d let you Dean, in a heartbeat,” he said swiftly, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “I’d let you use me however you wanted, if I knew you wouldn’t hate yourself after. I’ve fantasized about it too often not to. But you would. You’d hate yourself, the way you did back in Denver, because you won’t allow yourself to hate me.” His voice turned raspy. “But it’d be there, festering, tearing you apart, and I can’t do that, not to you.”

“I  _ did _ hate myself, but not because of you, Sam,  _ never _ because of you. I hated myself because I thought  _ I _ would corrupt  _ you _ .” 

Dean cupped Sam’s chin with his hand, tilting his face up so he could look into his brother’s eyes. “I could never hate you. I know what you’ve been through, and I’m so sorry it happened, Sammy. But you lived through it, and you came out even stronger. Dude, you’re the purest soul I know, and the strongest. You’ve been through all of that and you didn’t let it twist you. You didn’t let it turn you dark, and you didn’t give up.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean, I haven’t been pure since I was sixteen.” 

_ Sixteen.  _ Dean’s stomach sank. It seemed like there was at least one memory he hadn’t caught on his trip through Sam’s mind. He wanted to stop Sam, preserve his privacy, but he couldn’t. It was like he was frozen, looking at his brother in horror.

Sam swallowed once, but his eyes were clear when he spoke. “He was my teacher, and he took me. Under the bleachers. During a game. It was my fault, I was unclean, I sullied him. He saw what I needed, couldn’t stay away. Just like you.” His eyes flicked down quickly before returning to Dean’s face. “It’s happened too many times to not be true. You just can’t see it. I’m just Lucifer’s bitch, his pet. A toy meant to be used by anyone who sees me, to corrupt anyone who wants me. Unclean in the biblical sense.”

Dean pushed down his horror and anger, finally getting his body to respond. When he was alone he would unpack it, rage at the world, and at himself for not keeping Sam safe, for not shielding Sam from this, but right now he had to convince Sam of the truth.

“Stop!” he said, resting two fingers on Sam’s lips lightly. “Don’t you dare listen to those assholes over me.” 

Sam flinched at that, but he was listening.

“I kissed you because I love you,” he said, and waited until Sam once again met his gaze. “How couldn’t I? You’re amazing. You’ve been through hell and back, and your heart is as big as ever.” Dean’s voice was rough with unshed tears. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Sam, I was just a fucking coward and wouldn’t admit it. But Sam, you have to know that this isn’t me wanting just your body. It isn’t just lust or desire. I want  _ you _ . All of you.” Why had he fought so hard to keep from telling Sam this? It wasn’t hard, telling Sam he loved him was as easy as breathing. ”You’re it for me, Sammy. You’ve always been it.”

Sam didn’t move his eyes away from Dean’s. There was fear in his expression, but also hope. Time stood still as Sam looked at him, searching for any hint of deceit. Dean tried to put everything he felt for his brother into his eyes as he looked back, hiding nothing.  _ No masks, no walls.  _ After what felt like an eternity, the fear left Sam’s face, and as his lips trembled up in what could almost be called a smile, what remained in his brother’s eyes was mostly hope.

Sam cupped one of his huge hands behind Dean’s head and slowly pulled him forwards, leaving lots of time for Dean to pull away if he wanted. 

He didn’t. And when their lips met this time, Sam kissed back.

After a while they withdrew to catch their breath, and even though Sam still had tear tracks down his cheeks, he was smiling. He pulled Dean closer again and rested his forehead against his brother’s.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said finally, moving back to his side of the seat.

“All right, let’s get the hell out of here,” Dean said, guiding the car out onto the road again. Sam rested his head against the window and closed his eyes, but this time he was smiling. 

***

Dean swung past a drive-through to pick up some food. Sam looked way too thin and Dean didn’t want to leave him alone for too long. He tried to find items on the menu that weren’t deep fried and would be good to eat cold. It might be a while before Sam felt up to eating anything. He threw in a couple of cookies and a large orange juice; Sam had lost a lot of blood.

Back at the motel, he gently woke Sam by stroking his cheek. “Gotta get up now, Sammy.”

Sam blinked slowly up at him, and then his face scrunched up in pain. He hissed as Dean retreated and walked around to the other side of the car to help Sam out. He’d parked just outside the door, so it was easy to get Sam inside without drawing too much attention to the bloody, unkempt guy wearing a blanket.

Dean lowered Sam down on the bed. “Drink some water and rest,” he said. “I’ll get a bath going and fetch some things from the car.” He grabbed a bottle of water and put it in Sam’s hand, wrapping his long fingers around it.

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam mumbled. He unscrewed the bottle, upending and emptying it in a few large gulps. When it was empty, he carefully put it down on the bedside table, laying down and closing his eyes.

Dean did as he said, starting the water in the tub and then quickly gathering their belongings from the car. Having Sam out of his sight for even a few moments had his heart beating too fast. When he came back inside, he dropped their things and went to check on the water. It had reached the middle of the tub and was pleasantly warm. 

“Come on, bro,” he said, pulling Sam upright. ”You need a bath.”

Sam didn’t say anything as he followed Dean into the bathroom on now slightly steadier legs. When Dean grabbed the blanket to unwrap him, Sam whimpered and backed away, hands turning white as they held the blanket close to his body. 

“It’s me, Sam,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice gentle. “I just need to help you take a bath.” He wanted to strangle the bastards that had done this to his brother.

“Dean?” Sam asked, his scared eyes seeking out his brother’s face.

“Come on, let’s get you into the water.” He reached out slowly, and this time Sam let the blanket drop. Dean led him to the tub, looking away but keeping him steady while he stripped off his sweatpants and got in.

Sam didn’t protest at all as Dean helped him wash, visibly relaxing under his touch, but his eyes didn't leave Dean for a second. Dean hadn’t done this for his brother since he was a kid, but there was something soothing about lathering his hair up and pouring water to rinse it clean. “You know, this is so much easier when you’re not pretending to be a racer jet and splashing water all over me and the bathroom,” he said, smiling.

“It wasn’t a racer jet, I was the Loch Ness monster,” Sam replied, his own small smile playing on his lips.

“That explains you almost drowning me,” Dean chuckled. 

When he was finished, the water in the tub was dark with blood and dirt, but Sam’s skin was clean. It wasn’t as bad as he had thought. There were a few large bitemarks and cuts that seemed to have been made by some kind of blade, but many of them had already started to scab over.

Dean grabbed one of the big towels and helped Sam stand up, then wrapped him up in it. It still felt weirdly familiar to take care of his brother this way. “I’m not a  _ kid _ , Dean,” Sam whined when he started to towel him dry, and Dean smiled. After helping Sam step out of the tub, he let his brother take care of himself. 

“I’ll get the kit ready so I can stitch up your neck. It looks like they used you as a chew-toy ,” he said. Then he caught what had just slipped out and hurried on. “Those gashes on your thigh look deep, too.” He moved out of the bathroom as he spoke. When Sam walked towards him on wobbly legs, he fought the instinct to rush to his side and just waited for Sam to sit down in front of him on the bed.

“Take these first.” He handed Sam a couple of painkillers and antibiotics, as well as the orange juice.

After Sam swallowed the pills down, he examined the wounds Dean had mentioned. “I think only two of these need stitches.” He sounded much more lucid and steadier than before, to Dean’s relief.

“Yeah, but we’re gonna have to do it without the ‘hunter’s helper’,” Dean said, nodding to the bottle of whiskey at the bedside table. “You’ve lost way too much blood, and not eaten in a while, am I right?”

“Yeah, they didn’t exactly feed me,” Sam said hunching his shoulders.

“All right, let’s get this over with so we can get you some food,” Dean said.

Sam was right – only one of the knife wounds along his thigh and the bite at his neck needed to be stitched up. The rest could be fixed with butterfly bandages. Dean worked as quickly as he could. Sam ground his teeth together and didn’t make a sound, making Dean proud.

When he was done dressing all the wounds, he got Sam into some sleep clothes and fed him, and when his brother couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, Dean tucked him in under the covers.

“Where’re you going to sleep?” Sam asked, the words slipping out like through syrup. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor, don’t worry about it,” Dean said. Honestly, he didn’t plan on sleeping at all; he needed to keep his eyes on Sam so he could get it through his head that his brother was with him and safe.

“That’s stupid, come here,” Sam said, patting the bed next to him.

“I don’t need to, Sam, it’s okay,” Dean protested, not wanting to push anything too fast.

“Want you to,” Sam mumbled. “Feel safer with you close.” Dean hesitated for a few more minutes, and then Sam added, “Won’t go to sleep until you do.” 

Dean sighed. His brother knew how to pull his strings all right. He lifted the cover and slid in beside Sam, pulling him close. It didn’t take long before Sam fell asleep, and Dean wasn’t far behind.

*** 

When Sam woke up, he felt cold. He immediately knew where he was and what had happened. What he didn’t know was where Dean had gone. It was clear that he was no longer in bed next to Sam, but more than that, somehow he knew he wasn’t anywhere in the motel.

Sam had kicked off his covers in his sleep, that was why he was shivering. He pulled the cover up one-handed, picking up his phone and calling Dean with the other. His pulse didn’t even have time to rise alarmingly before he got an answer.

“Sam! Is everything okay?” Dean was such a mother hen whenever Sam was the smallest bit hurt or sick. Still, it filled his chest with warmth.

“Yeah, just wanted to know where you had gone,” Sam said, feeling a bit silly. After all, his brother could take care of himself.

“I woke up because my stupid stomach was grumbling so loud I thought it would wake up the neighbors,” Dean said. “I figured I could go to that gas station we passed and pick up some essentials before I woke you too.”

Sam rolled his eyes. His brother always thought with his stomach. He felt a bit childish for asking, but being alone right now made him feel nervous. “When’re you coming back?”

“Miss me that much, huh?” Dean asked and Sam could almost hear him wagging his eyebrows.

“Jerk,” he said.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Dean said. And then, “Hold on...”

Dean spoke in a low voice to someone nearby – an obviously female someone, even though Sam couldn’t make out the words. His stomach clenched.

“Make that twenty,” Dean said. “Go get some more sleep, Sam.”

Before Sam could answer, Dean ended the call.

They hadn’t talked about the kiss when they got back to the motel, and Sam didn’t want to assume anything, but the decidedly sultry voice of the woman Dean had been talking to made his chest ache. He didn’t have that sort of claim on Dean, but a part of him had thought the kiss meant something, something more than brotherly love.

There was something about that voice, though...

He put the phone down again and laid down, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears that threatened. He was stupid. Of course Dean wouldn’t want only him. He loved women, always had. He wouldn’t give that up for Sam.  _ Stupid.  _ Dean had told him he loved him, and here he was, all jealous of some random girl. .

He tried to fall asleep again, but then the nagging feeling he’d felt since the call bloomed into panic.  _ He recognized the voice. _ Of course, the last time he’d heard her, she was calling him “Toy” and “Pet” with a predatory pitch. 

He hadn’t bothered asking Dean how many vampires he’d killed.

Sam flew out of bed, throwing on shoes and a coat. He was out the door with a machete hidden inside his jacket and his phone in hand before it had rung three times. 

Dean didn’t pick up.

Sam could feel his blood rushing through his head, his pulse beating too hard, but he didn’t have time to stop and gather his breath.

Dean was in danger. 

If anyone had asked him just hours before, he’d have reluctantly admitted that he wouldn’t be able to walk across the motel parking lot, let alone run, but it turned out that he could. 

He turned down the street towards the gas station Dean had mentioned. As he ran, he focused on feeling the air moving in and out of his lungs, his feet pounding against the pavement, and his heart pumping blood. When his legs wanted to give out and everything turned black at the edges of his vision, he clenched his teeth and ran faster. He couldn’t fail Dean.

He slowed to a jog as he neared the gas station, trying to catch his breath and calm his heartbeat. He wouldn’t be any help to Dean if he fainted before he even got there. 

The area around the building was well-lit, just empty asphalt and some cars. With a pang to his chest, Sam saw the Impala to one side. On edge, he closed in on it, but a quick glance told him what he already knew: It was empty. As he circled the sleek black car, his heart dropped into his stomach. Dean’s phone lay smashed on the ground next to the driver’s side door.

Sam didn’t bother to pick it up. The vampires must have dragged Dean away from the parking lot, not wanting to risk discovery, but Sam didn’t think they would have gone far. Dean had to have killed most of their family. Sam had dim recollections of the woman’s mate being in the basement when Dean found him. He forced his thoughts away from vivid memories of pain, blood and humiliation, of the male vampire breathing in his ear, and focused on the task at hand.

He’d scanned a map of the area when he’d gotten into town, looking for possible locations for the vampires’ nest. If he concentrated, he could still visualize the streets and buildings surrounding the gas station. To his left, away from the town center and the motel, was the area’s warehouse district. At this time of night, it was sure to be empty, but there would be guards throughout the buildings. To his right lay a seedy bar, probably full of loud, drunk customers.

Sam didn’t hesitate. He turned right. 

He didn’t run this time, but moved swiftly, keeping his eyes and ears on his surroundings and hoping his memory was right. As he rounded the corner, he saw that the alleyway at the back of the bar was blocked by a wooden fence a couple of inches higher than he was tall, and allowed himself a glimpse of hope.

From the other side of the building, the side with the bar’s entrance, he could hear yelling, laughter and music. As he neared the fence, the yelling escalated – it sounded like a pretty serious fight was just starting. Sam’s lips quirked in a sardonic smile. His instincts were right; this was the perfect place for them to take out their revenge on Dean. The sounds would just be drowned out and ignored.

With a shaking hand, Sam took out the machete. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, willing himself steady, and then backed up a couple of steps. With the machete in hand, he ran at the fence and jumped up, grabbing the top and vaulting over. He misjudged his weakened state slightly; one foot caught momentarily at the rough planks, and when he landed, it twisted beneath him. He forced himself to keep the groan of pain inside as he stood up in a crouch, looking around.

Luckily, he’d landed behind a large dumpster. As the bar’s sounds became muffled, he could hear what sounded like fists and boots meeting flesh, and to his horror a clipped scream of pain. Dean rarely let his enemies have the pleasure of knowing they had hurt him.

Sam wanted to rush in, machete swinging, but he held himself back, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. The container stood against a brick wall, with two yards or so of space between it and the fence. It was a little at an angle, with the larger opening facing Sam, because the people who put it there hadn’t cared about placing it flush against the wall. That would give Sam room to squeeze between the wall and the container. It was also wider on the top than the bottom, so if he stayed crouched down, he could move to see what was happening without being seen.

He quickly moved forward, keeping as quiet as possible. When he reached the edge of the container, he peered out, keeping in the shadows and making sure the single light from the bar’s back door didn’t glint off the metal of his weapon. 

Dean was tied to some pipes at the side of the building, his hands above his head and toes just barely touching the ground. Sam knew how agonizing it was to be bound like that. For the briefest moment he was back in that basement, his shoulders straining from holding his weight.  _ Focus. _ At least Dean had a wall at his back. And he wasn’t naked…  _ No! Stay in the present! Gotta save Dean.  _

Blood ran down his brother’s face. He’d been beaten badly, but he was still alive and still conscious. There were five vampires, but he only recognized two. There hadn’t been more than seven in the nest that had held him prisoner, so they’d either called in backup or created more. Sam hoped it was the latter. New vampires wouldn’t have learned to use their strength or speed properly yet. It didn’t matter much one way or another, though; he had to take them down. 

Sam took a deep breath and backed out of the cramped area, retreating behind the dumpster as he devised a rudimentary plan. He regretted ever taking this hunt. Had he known there were seven of them he wouldn’t have come alone. Even on a good day, he wouldn’t have attacked that many vampires  _ head on _ , and this was most definitely not a good day for him. Before his mind could start focusing on all the parts of him that ached, or the trembling unsteadiness of legs that wanted to give out beneath him, he launched himself into action.

The first part worked as smoothly as a well-oiled machine. Throwing a handful of small rocks towards the metal container definitely got the bloodsuckers’ attention. A deep voice barked out a sharp order, one that made Sam shiver with fear. He steeled himself; he had to face this for Dean’s sake. When the big, hulking shape of a vampire walked around the corner, Sam was ready. One quick step and swipe of the machete and the man’s head separated from his body.

That trick wouldn’t work twice, so he hurried around the container, hoping for surprise to give him the upper hand, but that was where everything went wrong. As he threw himself forwards, a hand caught him straight across the jaw, whipping his head to the side. He stumbled from its force, his ears ringing, and barely managed to sidestep the arms that tried to catch him.

The four remaining vampires abandoned their game of beating Dean up to focus on Sam. While the female whose voice he had recognized on Dean’s phone and one of the men who had... while the two of them started to circle Sam in perfect coordination, the other two – a pair of young guys that fit the ‘high school linebackers’ stereotype to a tee – closed in on him from the sides. Sam started backing up toward the brick wall to keep from being jumped from behind. 

Before he could reach it, the guy on his right swept in, jabbing a fist towards Sam’s stomach. It was easy for Sam to sidestep the punch, but that left him open for the second guy to tackle him. He went flying to the ground, the breath driven from his lungs, and the back of his head hit the asphalt with a burst of pain. When the guy landed on top of him, he saw spots in front of his eyes.

He’d somehow managed to keep his grip on the machete, jammed as it was between their chests. Sam bent his knee, braced his foot on the ground and heaved to the side, slicing upwards and letting the momentum of the roll drive the blade through the thick neck.

He didn’t have time to catch his breath. Somehow, he got his knees under him and heaved up, moving away from the dead vamp in a graceful move that his body would regret for days... if he survived.

Behind him he could hear Dean cursing loudly, and another muffled scream of pain. For less than a second Sam glanced over, seeing the remaining linebacker hit his brother to keep him still. 

The brief loss of focus was a deadly mistake. A body suddenly pressed up against his back, muscular arms encircling him, one wrapped around his chest and one low on his abdomen. “You’ve been bad, pet,” his captor purred in his ear. Stomach churning, Sam tried to break the hold, but it wouldn’t budge. “You left before we were done playing with you.”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as cold hands gripped his left wrist. For a brief moment, the hold on him lessened as his arm was pulled free, but he was frozen in panic. His mind was speeding through all the times in that basement with the vampires, every limb locked up with fear. Then sharp teeth torturously tore into the raw skin of his wrist, reopening the older, half-healed bites there. A scream tore from his lips before he could stop it, and his eyes snapped open.

He was sandwiched between the two vampires from the nest. The woman was in front of him, still latched to his lifted wrist as the man holding him pinned whispered, “You’re by far the best pet we’ve had. It’s almost like you were trained for it. You took it so good, holding still, begging to be used.” 

An icy cold dread filled Sam’s chest as the man ground his groin into Sam’s ass, his erection clear through both of their pants. He closed his eyes again, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Maybe it would be better if he just let them drain him so he could finally go on to whatever lay ahead for him. Heaven or hell, at least it would be over.

_ I kissed you because I love you. _

The words sounded clearly in his mind, and he saw Dean in front of him, the way he’d looked when he’d uttered those words. His eyes had been greener than ever, sparkling with unshed tears and something else, something deeper... Unconditional love. 

He couldn’t die yet. His brother had kissed him, and they hadn’t even had a chance to talk about it. 

Sam opened his eyes as the man speaking into his ear brushed his teeth over Sam’s neck. “So nice to taste you again, pet,” he said. “Maybe we can get to the other part after? We can even let big brother watch, see how good you take me. How about that?” His hand moved lower, cupping Sam painfully through his jeans as nausea and anger competed inside him.

Anger won. It burned hot, turning into rage.

Sam didn’t hesitate. He flung his head backwards, hearing the satisfying crunch of a broken nose. The arms holding him loosened their grip and he pulled to the side. His wrist burned as he yanked it free from the teeth that had been feeding there, twisting and dripping blood as he grabbed the woman’s long hair in his hand. He was still holding the machete; they must have thought him subdued enough to not bother taking it from him. He spun to the side, pulling the female vampire with him, the force of his actions making it easy to separate her head from her body.

Just as Sam looked up, his remaining tormentor took the second linebacker by the neck and threw him at Sam. This one didn’t try to tackle him, just went in swinging. Sam dodged the first couple of punches, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid the uppercut to his jaw. He staggered back and his opponent followed, punching Sam’s middle again and again without giving him a chance to recover. Wheezing for breath, he shifted to the side and bent over, not even having to pretend as he gasped, trying to get air into his aching lungs. His attacker followed after him. 

Lungs burning, Sam swiveled and sidestepped him, swinging the machete at his neck. It was sheer blind luck that he’d cut clean through and still had the weapon in hand after. He stood there, swaying. He’d been weak from blood loss even before he came here, and now even more blood was running freely from his wrist and down onto the pavement.

A low chuckle sent shivers down Sam’s spine. Out of nowhere, a hand closed over his right wrist and  _ twisted _ , breaking it with a snap. He screamed and dropped the machete, which clattered against the ground. A second later, the surviving vampire slammed him against the brick wall, his head bouncing painfully off of it. The vampire pressed his arm against Sam’s chest, pinning him in place as he licked a long stripe up Sam’s throat, over the stitches Dean placed there mere hours ago. “Still showing some spirit, I see,” he said. “That’s good. It will make it so very much more pleasurable when I take you if you struggle as much as you did the first time.”

Sam looked towards his brother, seeking an ounce of strength to continue fighting. His heart leapt when he saw Dean pulling his hands free from the rope. God only knew how he’d managed that.

He locked eyes with the vampire. “I won’t let you! I’d die before that happened again.” This time he knew Dean loved him. He closed his eyes and prayed. He’d fought with everything he had to save his brother. Hopefully it was enough.

Something barreled into the vampire, knocking him away from Sam. When his eyes snapped open, Dean was sprawled in a heap, grappling with the vampire. Tucking his broken wrist against his chest, Sam dove for the machete, coming to his feet with a roll and a whimper at the pain. His vision whited out for a second as his broken bones ground together, threatening to make him lose consciousness, but he forced himself to stay lucid. 

“Dean, roll right!” he yelled and then he lunged forward, swinging the machete and praying that his brother was uninjured enough to react. As he reached the vampire, he squeezed his eyes shut as he swung down. After the machete stopped with a satisfying _chunk_ , he opened them again. His left arm wasn’t as strong as his right, so the head still hung on by a sliver of flesh, dangling at an awkward angle. But it was enough. The vampire was dead, and his brother lay safe and panting to the side.

Sam straightened up to his full height and took a few deep breaths, the blood on the machete dripping down parallel to the blood from his wrist. “You’ll never touch me again,” he said darkly, feeling free for the first time since he’d visited that cave months ago.

“That,” Dean panted out with a grin, “was fucking hot.” Sam felt a small thrill in his stomach.

One step over the body of the man that had tormented him brought him to his brother’s side. Then he let his legs fold under him, like they had wanted to since he jumped over the fence, and dropped to his knees. “Are you okay?” he asked, lifting his left hand to cup his brother’s face.

Dean grinned up at him through a split lip. His left eye was swollen shut and a curtain of blood ran down half his face from a cut at his hairline. “Knew you’d come, Sammy,” he said.

Sam gaped at him. “What?”

“Told those bastards my brother would kill them. They jumped me as I was helping the woman carry her bags to her car.”

Sam’s pulse thundered in his ears, his adrenaline vanishing fast. He sank down to the ground, laying his head against Dean’s shoulder. “Thought you were going to hook up with her,” he confessed in a small voice. He felt cold, small tremors working through his body.

Dean gently moved his head away and got to his knees, coughing up a slimy glob of blood. When Sam tried to follow him up, Dean pressed him down firmly. Then he picked up Sam’s left hand, looking at the sluggishly bleeding wound.

“Hell, Sammy!” he growled. “Can’t you keep your blood on the inside, where it should be?” He lifted Sam’s hand into the air above his body. “Keep it there,” he ordered as he quickly tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt.

“You were jealous, bro?” he asked. Before Sam could answer, he placed a folded square of fabric over the bleeding wound and pressed hard, making Sam moan in pain. “I told you that you’re it for me,” Dean said, trying to keep him distracted as he wound the rest of the torn fabric around Sam’s wrist to keep the pressure constant.

Sorrow filled Sam’s chest. “You deserve so much better.”

Dean cradled the back of Sam’s head and gently lifted it onto his lap so he could look down and meet his eyes. “Dude, you just killed five vampires, like just four hours after being starved and bled for how many days?” 

Sam let out a chuckle. “Had to save your dumb ass,” he said with affection.

“I knew you would. You’re Sam fucking Winchester!”

Sam shook his head slightly, but didn’t argue. What was important was that they were both alive and together.

“Hey Dean, I didn’t say it before, but I do, too.” He blushed but pushed on. If his brother had been able to say it despite hating talking about his feelings, then the least he could do was say it back. “I love you.”

Then, because Dean always understood actions more than words, he awkwardly scrambled to his knees and tried to press close to his brother to give him a passionate kiss. It was supposed to be romantic, but his broken wrist caught between their chests and he groaned in pain, black spots filling his vision.

“Sam?” Dean asked, fear in his voice.

“I’m fine,” Sam said. “Just need to pass out for a little bit.” He collapsed against his brother’s chest – much more carefully this time.

Dean tugged at his hair gently. “Not the place, Sam, we need to get out of here before we’re discovered.” After a lot of prodding, he got Sam and himself up on their feet. When he stood in front of Sam, he looked over his other injuries. “How are you still conscious, dude?

“Had to save you,” Sam said, swaying. Dean shook his head and chuckled. Then he let out a small groan of pain and pressed a hand to his ribs. Sam quickly stepped forward, wanting to make sure Dean was okay, but a wave of vertigo made him fall forward into Dean’s chest, making him groan again and nearly knocking them both down. Finally, Dean succeeded in wrapping an arm around Sam’s middle, and slowly they moved towards the Impala, leaning on each other, each step a painful affair.

“You need a hospital?” Dean asked. Sam huffed out a laugh, followed by a painful cough that forced him to stop and lean against a building until he could see clearly again. Of course Dean didn’t think about himself, only worrying about Sam. 

“I’m fine, Dean,” he said, grabbing his brother and continuing their slow treck. “I’m Sam fucking Winchester, remember? I just need a few bandages... and to be horizontal for a while.”

“Are you trying to get me into bed, Sam?” Dean asked, and he had that huge grin on his face that he usually used on waitresses and girls in bars. “All you had to do was ask.”

Sam felt heat rise inside him. He’d thought it had been beaten down and taken from him, but apparently he really was stronger than he’d thought. Or maybe the thought of sex with Dean pushed everything else to the side.

“Who says we’ll be horizontal when we fuck? Or even in a bed?” he purred, giving Dean a predatory grin. His brother’s rising blush and gaping mouth sent a thrill through him. Then the pain of all his injuries pushed the moment away and he stumbled with a moan.

Dean was there to catch him before he hit the ground. “Slow down there, Sasquatch. You need to rest before we start any sexcapades,” he said with a warm smile.

Dean had followed Sam through all of his worst memories. He’d seen Sam’s deepest and darkest secrets, his self-loathing, his disgust, all of it laid bare between them, and he had kissed him instead of running away.

Dean wanted him, and he wanted Dean. It might not be right, but it was theirs. It was enough. 

And for once Sam might be enough too.


End file.
